A is for Apple, B is for Blood
by OneBadCat
Summary: **OMG it's the final update!** finally, chapter W is for Wager. The complete alphabet, as inspired by Nickledime 17 - prompts with a Max and White response. One shots and Some shots - thanks to Gemini for the category type! --includes reading guide--
1. A is for Anything

2

author's note – 30 fics in 30 days? What was I thinking!! So I have borrowed inspiration from Nickledime-17's alphabet game. And so, here begins 30 fics about Max and Ames White...

**ANYTHING**

She was alone again in their cell while he was gone enjoying the newest round of pain-filled fun.

Max didn't like to think about how long she'd been here – even though she knew, give or take a couple of minutes, thanks to her impressive Manticore-given internal time-keeping.

It made her worry - about Terminal City, how things were going, what the people were doing; if they missed her, had failed in their rescue attempts, or had decided she wasn't worth the attempt at all.

Then common sense broke through her pity-party; she could save the world, dammit - of course they'd fight to get her back!

And the worry returned – with reinforcements: how many others were now locked down here, languishing, wounded - because of her, because of what she was...

Max blinked against the threat of tears – wherever she was, who ever she was with, they were always in danger. It never stopped.

For a moment she wondered if things would be better for her friends; hell, for everyone stuck in TC, if she quietly died here – maybe even today...

But these dark ruminations were interrupted by approaching visitors, two walking - although marching was a much better description. They were dragging a third, by the sound she could hear.

She glanced quickly around the cell but nothing had changed – no weapons, no advantage, no point (no hope...?)

So she sat with her back against the wall, clearly no threat, no danger; and tried not to watch as they threw him across the threshold, heavy door slamming shut behind them.

He lay in a heap for sometime. She was tempted to go and check his condition but they had a rule – she didn't ask him for comfort, and she didn't offer him any. He would never ask, so her gesture would always be an imposition; he was always alright – at least, he was when it was her who was looking.

Eventually he stirred, pulled himself off the cold stones and shuffled to lean against a wall - as far from her as he could get, without having to move very far.

Burning with the urge to ask if he was okay, she bit her tongue and tried not to wriggle.

The silence stretched on.

Her night vision was back, now that the light from the corridor was once more cut off by the door of their prison. She could see the recent damage, fresh blood gleaming wetly against the rusty dry stains of the old.

He raised his head where it had been resting on his chest as he sucked in deep breaths.

He looked bad this time. Possibly _really_ bad.

"What would you do to get out of here?"

She jumped at the unexpected sound. His voice was cracked and rough. She wondered, not for the first time, if they had finally managed to break him.

Anything!" she replied without hesitation.

He swallowed, a silence drawing out between them. It was obvious that he was collecting the strength to continue. She waited, patiently – incarceration had taught her that trick when no-one else had managed to before.

"Would you hold me?"

The request was barely more than a whisper.

Max blinked but scooted closer to her cellmate. As she wrapped her arms around his shaking and wounded form, lightly so as not to cause him further hurt; she wondered if it was surreal or just in keeping with how weird her life always seemed to get – to be comforting Ames White...


	2. B is for Brick

27

**BRICK**

It was the anniversary of their first intimate moment.

Not their first fight – although that _was_ memorable; nor that Heat encounter, when his father had walked in afterward and outlined his intentions for them both.

Today was the anniversary of the first time they chose – independent of everyone and everything – to be together, to try it and see what it was like.

Max smiled, caught in the recollection – of similar expressions gracing both their faces; of fear and anticipation and a little bit of mischief. Some non-descript place that only X-5 abilities could commit to memory.

It seemed such an unremarkable location for what had turned out to be such a significant decision.

"Hot run!" Normal broke through her pleasant thoughts, thrusting a package into her hands. Max had to tighten her grasp, an instinctive reflex, as it was heavier than she'd assumed.

Half an hour, two guards, and a bruised knuckle later; Max was making her way down the stairs of a warehouse she not only recognised but had been to before.

The bottom floor was just the same as her last visit – gloomy and mostly empty, looking like an abandoned and rarely used secret lair.

The picnic cloth was new, and the lavish spread laid out on it – complete with china and a candelabra.

She only had a moment to wonder what the hell was going on, before the whistle of air announced the arrival of a high speed limb – and she ducked, spinning round to face and defend against this unexpected attack.

He was grinning – clearly pleased with himself.

"You set me up!" she demanded.

His answer was an aerial roundhouse that would have connected with her jaw if she hadn't danced out of the way.

Max was grinning now.

While this didn't exactly mirror the original version – they weren't landing blows for a start – Max figure most of that was because, of the two of them, only she had photographic recall. But he was certainly trying hard enough to make it realistic.

Finally she stumbled twisting away from a punch ending up cheek down on the floor just like last time.

Glancing around for the 2x4 she expected in this reconstruction, she was surprised to hear his deep chuckle instead, and rolled over to watch him approach and extend a hand to help her up.

Keeping her hand, he lead her over to the picnic – set, ironically, in the exact place that Wendy had hidden in; but Max was probably the only one who remembered _that_ little detail, and she didn't really want to spoil this moment with mention of his murdered ex-wife.

Max was happy to accept the glass he handed her "Where did you find champagne in this broken world?" she murmured; before a teasing smile slid across her face as she tilted her head toward her bag.

"I'm gonna need a signature..." she said with a raised eyebrow, idly wondering if his alias was significant or just a random invention.

"It's for you..." he told her and she practically threw her glass at him, in her hasty scramble to reach her present. He chuckled – that deep and husky laugh that always sent warmth to her belly. Her hand paused on the wrapping – that sound was often a warning.

Max tore the paper off and turned to glare at the man who had sent her on this goose chase – with Normal's help, she realised with a scowl. Damn them both!

"Because there was no plank, this time..." he said, laughter in his voice, and his smile was positively wicked.

Max spared one last glance at the object in her hand before tossing it behind her and lunging for him, rolling them away from the food as they tussled, laughing.


	3. C is for Cold

Author's note – only a short one tonight. But eventually you're getting 30 you greedy readers, so be happy!!

**COLD**

She lay in the snow.

So did he.

But he was shivering, while she was unconscious.

Scratch that last - given her pain-filled groan, she was only hoping to be unconscious.

White glared at the transgenic – source of all his problems (although even he knew that this one wasn't her fault)

If only the helicopter hadn't been shot down in this mountain wilderness...

If only his shoulder wasn't dislocated...

If only his gun had stayed in the holster instead of spinning away god only knows where...

If only his leg wasn't broken...

If only he'd never met 452...

then he wouldn't be doing a commando crawl across a frozen wasteland, to lend her enough body heat to stay alive, so that he could finally squeeze out of her the location of his son.


	4. D is for Daughter

**DAUGHTER**

He watched his child play.

_She_ would never know, but the little girl was _hers_ too.

That last time 452 was a _guest_ of the Conclave they had taken some eggs. When Ames was selected as the candidate to provide the other half for a hybrid experiment, he'd been equally disgusted and proud – they had chosen _him_ as the strongest genetic material for a twisted creature that went against all their teachings.

But stood outside the delivery room, watching through thick glass as the surrogate mother red-face and panting commanded her body to obey, Ames felt a surge of warmth for this tiny person. Instinct or memory, of another woman, another child; the new baby was a second chance, a second child he could teach and nurture. He could watch her grow and she'd never be taken from him by the enemy. By his Superiors, maybe – but only for her education, and never kept from him, merely put on the path of her destiny.

The child in the school room, not yet three years old and playing quietly; unaware that she learned an intentional lesson from her toys, unaware of her father's regard – that he watched with love and pride, never distaste at her mixed heritage. She was stronger and faster and smarter than her peers and they shunned her – jealous like kids are, but also prompted by the whispered words of their parents.

Ames watched the little girl play.

_She_ would never know.

But was that good enough for his daughter...?


	5. E is for Enough

Author's note - WARNING - this one is kind of dark. I'm giving it a teen 15 rating, to cover myself and warn you all. Contains implied torture and badness.

**ENOUGH**

She hurt.

In every single part of her body there was pain of varying degrees. Some were mild, some were sharp, and some were a bone deep ache that never went away.

Her left eye had swollen shut long ago, her right eye could now open no more than a thin slit. It was enough to confirm that the instigator of her condition was still present, was still the same man, still not showing any sign of getting tired.

His fist landed once more in her already broken ribs and Max couldn't stop her sharp cry at the white hot flash that burned through her.

She clung to the tiny spark of satisfaction that, while she had broken her silence to wordlessly vocalise her pain, she was still refusing to speak, to answer any of their questions – although she had run out of saliva to spit in their faces some time ago. They gave her enough water to keep her alive but no more than the absolute minimum, leaving none extra to waste on petulant displays of attitude – however satisfying they were.

The door opened and Max wasn't surprised to recognise her new visitor.

Ames White settled into a chair not far from her own - although his didn't have restraints built into the arm rests.

Unusually for him, based on the history of their previous encounters, he said nothing, just sat and watched and waited. Waited for what, she didn't want to consider - the options were limited and not very appealing.

The guy dishing out the rough handling gifted her with some more torment in her soft and vulnerable places. Max tried to hold back the grunt but it slipped through tight lips anyway. White leaned forward, his gaze intense - it felt like being back at Manticore when the scientists would probe for any weakness or interesting response. They caused her as much hurt as the new guys were - but sometimes in entirely different ways. When the Conclave realised that she could and was, willfully, resisting their attempts at psychologically-based interrogation, they moved on to the physical techniques that she was currently experiencing. She'd bet her next meal that White had suggested it. He was often in here, watching but taking no active part. He was probably enjoying it - seeing her grow weaker, day by day.

She heard something crack, jolting her from the reverie she had fallen into, making her cough, wetly.

Max gasped. She could feel the blood in her lung. It was becoming too much. She could no longer find the energy to endure, she no longer had the mental reserves to withdraw into her mind for a brief respite.

The time had probably come; to admit defeat; to give them _one_ tiny victory.

"Enough..." she choked, head hanging.

She felt her tormentor move away, heard his footsteps fade as he left the cell she had grown worryingly familiar with.

She looked up to see White step toward her.

"Okay," he agreed softly, briefly cradling her cheek. "No more..." he promised.

His fist crashed into her temple and the world turned dark.


	6. F is for Frosting

**FROSTING**

She had frosting on her nose.

It was the most adorable thing he had seen.

She had frosting on her hands and her face, and a generous amount around her mouth, but there had been enough left to cover the cake that she was proudly showing him.

A misshapen flower was drawn in the centre.

"What's the occasion?" he asked her.

"It's Mommy's birthday."

Ames frowned. "And how would you know that, sweetie?"

"There was a paper in the classroom..."

"A _piece_ of paper," he corrected distractedly.

"Yes. And it said things about Mommy."

"Where did you find it?" an edge had crept into his tone.

"Under Teacher's desk."

"You know you shouldn't read people's private things," he admonished, but secretly he was so proud of his little girl – she was barely three and already reading far beyond her expected level.

"It wasn't hidden!" she protested, with the outrage of a wrongly accused child.

"It wasn't yours." he insisted.

"Davey was being mean to me again so I hid under the chair,"

"Was he saying things about Mommy?" he couldn't help the interruption – while raising a curious child had taught him patience, Ames was currently too tense to let the story unfold without some prompting.

"No, but I still didn't like it. I saw the _piece_ of paper in the garbage." the way she stressed the correction made the corners of his mouth lift despite his concern. She tilted her head. "What's 'junk dna' mean?"

Ames gaped. He so wasn't ready for this discussion yet. She had already forced him to talk about her mother – a topic he had decided never to broach. But there was so little he could refuse his girl.

"It's a science thing," he began, hoping she'd get sidetracked by a new topic from her mercurial mind.

"Like Transgenics?" she interrupted.

Ames wiped a hand over his face, he felt ambushed and suddenly weary.

"How about we go home and I'll tell you all about it..."

"Can we eat Mommy's cake?"

"If you want to..." he sighed, feeling beaten.

"We can eat some for her, so that she'll get a birthday party even if she can't be here."

There was a strange sensation in his belly, as though he'd swallowed something too big to go down. It lay there, heavy and painful. As she clasped his hand and they walked out of the schoolroom, Ames wondered what difficult questions would she ask next...?


	7. G is for Girl

**GIRL**

She's not a girl, she's a freaky mixed bag of animal genetics.

She's the annoyance that won't lie down and quit when told.

She's the enemy that stole his son.

She's the threat to five thousand years of planning.

She's the thought that won't stop buzzing in his mind like a fly trapped in a room, bumping against the inside of his head when all he wants is to sleep.

She's the most demanding opponent he has ever fought, which makes their clashes exciting, always stretching his skills. But she doesn't know when she's beaten.

She's stubborn; she won't accept that he will win. He always wins – and the end of the world is no exception.

She's weak; her compassion for others, the sham of humanity that she practices and clings to so desperately, will ultimately kill her. Not that he's supposed to notice or even care.

She's a poison and an army, invading his life and beliefs until he's not sure where he stands any more.

She is beautiful.

He looks down at her moving beneath him, her soft lips parted on a breathy moan, golden skin shining with the sweat of their union.

She's not a girl, he muses. She is most definitely a woman.


	8. H is for Hero

Author's note - Only a short one for tonight. When this is over, I might come back and expand it, but for now - read on and enjoy...

**HERO**

He's not what you expect for a hero.

Heroes are supposed to be good and kind. They save bunnies and damsels in distress, they sing as they ride faithful steeds on long dusty roads.

He absolutely does none of that.

Alec likes to tease him about it, likes to drop into a chair when no-one else is around and ask probing questions – that sometimes aren't so subtle.

Logan prefers to ignore it, as though that would somehow change history and make it not true. Command is always a little tense when the Ordinary drops by, trying to monopolise her attention and persuade Max to his point of view. But these days, everyone gets a laugh watching him squirm at mention of the event or reference to the aftermath.

Because the whole population of Terminal City knows about that day when, to everyone's surprise – not least his own – Ames White jumped in front of the bullet intended for Max; the day he stopped being simply the enemy, and became "the guy who saved her life" too.


	9. I is for Imposter

Author's note - I'm thinking this might be a companion to the letter G. It's certainly something I'd like to continue... But for now, enjoy!

**IMPOSTER**

He sat in a cold, empty corridor. The wooden bench under his legs was warm from his body heat, generated over the long while he'd been waiting. The grey stone marched in ordered regulated patterns up wall and over floor.

He'd been here before, cooling his heels at the Conclave's pleasure, waiting for the Council of Elders to call him in for whatever their summons regarded.

He glanced around – it hadn't changed since the last time (about twelve years ago, he reckoned), and no-one came here without official request so he wasn't going to get any company. Which was a shame, because he could really use a distraction...

Last time he sat here, a young man barely out of boyhood, waiting to change his name and his history, so that his future might have a chance. He'd dreamed of being such a bright hope for them, a golden example of what it was to be a Familiar. Loyal, dedicated, merciless. No quarter, no weakness.

He shook his head, wry grin ghosting on and quickly off his face. He's been called before several Councils recently; to explain and justify his actions, his apparently increasingly erratic behaviour, his inability to successfully capture the Queen Transgenic.

The discourse and argument he can handle; he can lie and defend himself with the best of them – he went to law school... Even without the hours of practice they've given him with these never ending appearances.

So he's just waiting for the day some Conclave goody-goody looking for promotion takes his head apart and finds that secret longing for 452, and the strangely appealing knowledge that he did something about it – last Friday...


	10. J is for Jealous

Author's note – a long one for a change. It went in a strange direction but I like where it ends. I hope it doesn't go too tangent-y...

**JEALOUS**

Logan stood in Command, on the edge of the brightly lit and bustling area that was the nerve centre, where all the computers and monitors could be found and the action happened. Logan watched Max laughing, at the undoubtedly stupid thing that _he_ had said, saw her swat his arm with barely concealed affection. Wondered, not for the first time, how she could be with _him_. Wondered, if he could get her away from _him_, would Max see reason and extend once more the tenuous hand of her friendship...

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, that Logan didn't notice the Transgenic approaching; although _that_ was nothing new – Logan often thought that they did it deliberately, because they could, because he couldn't.

"I know that look," Alec warned him. "Whatever you're plotting is not good, and I'll have no part in it."

"Hear me out," Logan appealed.

"No." Alec's resolution was commendable. "This way..." he continued, leading the older man out of Command to the Canteen, sitting him down and disappearing, to return moments later with two beers and a tight expression that he soon controlled.

Alec talked; Logan drank, and eventually had enough "courage" to splutter "Why _him_?! _You_ I could almost understand, I mean you were made the same way, you grew up with even more of the shit that she did... But _him_?! He tried to _kill_ her. He chained her up and beat her,"

"He gave that all up, Logan. For her..." Alec interrupted.

"I don't like him."

"No-one's asking you to."

"I don't like them together."

"You don 't have to be here..." Alec pointed out gently.

Logan's head whipped round to stare at the younger man – an ill advised move, it added nausea to his growing headache...

"Wha'chu sayin'?!" he slurred.

"I'm saying you're drunk, I'm cutting you off and getting you home."

Logan let the X5 pull him upright and start to walk outside.

"How can you stand it?" he whispered damply against Alec's shoulder.

Alec sighed, pausing their forward motion to fix Logan with a steady gaze that became a little too penetrating for Logan's comfort.

"Because she's happy." Alec said simply. "And that's really what bugs you, isn't it," his face hardened, making Logan squirm with the tension. "Max is with someone who's not you; she's happier than anyone has ever seen her. And you can't bare it."

Logan's stunned expression gave way with a defensive scoff but both men knew the Transgenic's words were true.

"When you two 'weren't like that' and the virus pretty much forced you to keep a distance, you could believe that she'd come round to you if things changed." Alec's voice was as hard as his stare now. "But the virus was cured and she didn't come running to you. That's always hurt, everyone knows – even Max. But seeing her happy – that really burns, doesn't it. Knowing that she couldn't be happy with you. Knowing that she had to look somewhere so utterly different..."

Alec's clinical assessment of Logan's resentment was too much for his wounded ego, and he swung a fist at the X5. Alec could have dodged it even if Logan wasn't drunk, but with his inebriation it was too easy to twist away from it and use the man's momentum against him. Logan crashed to the dusty ground and rolled onto his back, panting. Alec resisted the urge to spit on the fallen man, instead gestured to some passing youngsters.

"Get this trash out of TC and let border patrol know he'll have to apply for entry next time – just like every other Ordinary."

In the haze of his drunkenness, Logan realised he'd lost more than Max's affections. He'd lost his usefulness and his privileges too.

If you asked him which hurt more, he wouldn't be able to answer...


	11. K is for Kiss

Author's note – grr... Real Life got in the way a little, so I'll be (maybe... events permitting...) posting two each for a couple of days to catch up. Can't promise, but the intention is to get them out – some might be drabbles... You'll have to wait and see!

**KISS**

Steam filled the kitchen while he put their dinner on to plates.

She sat at the table, holding her knife and fork in the air, as Ames swooped a plate of food on to the placemat in front of her. He dropped a kiss onto her hair and she squirmed away from him to look up and deplore,

"Daddy, don't be gross!"

He grinned. "You're the prettiest girl I know..." his teasing pride made her warm inside but she didn't want to seem weak by admitting it.

"Da-ddy!" she protested, with childish outrage.

"Fine," he put his hands up in mock defeat and justified his action, "I heard you were top of the class today."

"Yes."

Her shortness surprised him – she usually loved to brag about an achievement.

"That's very good." he encouraged her.

She shrugged.

"What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly worried by her response – or lack of.

Her little body was full of tension.

"I know what I'm doing..." she burst out.

"And what's that?" he tried to coax the problem from her.

"I'm learning to kill. I'm learning to hunt Transgenics!" her voice rose.

"Calm down, sweetie..." he wanted to comfort her, to draw her into a hug, but this was too important to distract with a soothing touch. "Is that a bad thing?" he asked her.

"They want me to hurt Mommy!"

He didn't reply, tried to keep his expression neutral but she knew him, could read and play him far too well.

"They want to use me to hurt Mommy!" she cried.

"What bothers you," he asked. "The betrayal of your self, or the actions they want from you?"

She cocked her head, clearly thinking hard. He loved that about her – she never jumped into an answer without careful consideration. Unless she was denying responsibility and then the protests flowed so fast!

"I belong to them..." she began, voice so small he thought his heart was breaking. "So do you!" she realised, tone forceful with shock.

"We all do, sweetheart. They made us strong and we owe them that debt." his delivery was calm, he'd long ago made peace with his disposability.

"It's not right." she declared. "It makes us meat, makes us no better than Transgenics – created to serve..."

His jaw dropped with shock at her statement. And then fear set in. Her words were effectively blasphemy. She'd be punished if anyone heard them or even believed she could think them.

"Don't ever say that again." he ordered, angrier than he intended. She shrank at the violence of his tone. "Not even to me." he warned softly. "People have ways of hearing words you don't even speak, let alone things you say out loud." She was shaking gently. Feeling guilty that he'd scared her, he pulled his little girl close to him, tucking her head under his chin, squeezing her tight, as she buried her face in the warm muscle of his chest and heaved a deep breath.

"They don't want me to do it yet," she said, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. "They want to wait til I'm older, less doubting, more obedient." She looked up at him, movement sudden and surprising. His embrace tightened instinctively, responding to a primitive perception of threat.

"Can I see Mommy before I have to do it?"

He was wrong before – _this_ was the pain of his heart breaking.

He swallowed, frantically considering his answer.

His smart and beautiful little girl. His joy and his weak spot.

If she was hurting even half as much as him, it was still more than he ever wanted for her.

"We can't see her..." he said, voice tight.

"Do _you_ want to?" she asked, spotting instantly his unintentional slip.

He fell back on the time-honoured but sneaky adult method of dodging the issue and tried to change the subject.

"I though this was about you..."

"Daddy..." she warned.

He sighed, knowing he was beaten – if he didn't answer now she wouldn't let it go, she'd refuse to sleep until he told her the truth.

"We're not _allowed_ to see her," he hedged.

"That wasn't the question..." she pointed out.

"She doesn't like me and I don't like her." he said, satisfied that that would end the matter.

But his little girl was such a product of her mixed genes – tenacious and inquisitive.

"Do you _want_ to see her?" she insisted, and Ames began to realise that it was important to her. His daughter needed to know and he couldn't deny her.

The pause stretched, broken finally by his deep inhale and the big sigh that followed in defeat.

"I don't know..." he confessed quietly.


	12. L is for Last

**LAST**

He could feel the blood, warm and sticky under his hand.

He could ignore pain, but consequences were the same for every thing that bled - his wound had been too long unattended, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he passed out.

White lay in a dirty alley and would have laughed at the events that led here – if he had the energy to do more than gasp shallow breathes.

It was an ambush.

It was _supposed_ to be an ambush - but of Transgenics, not of him.

Everyone was in place, the Freaks were trapped; and then his team turned on him.

He saw her take a bullet, he watched 494 drag her in to a defensible corner. Impulse drove him toward her, before he caught a bullet of his own and fell.

He called out to her as the Freaks found a hole in the walls and disappeared.

The Conclave team left him there.

No-one would be coming to help him.

He had plenty of time to think about his current situation as the blood slowly dripped out of his body.

His last thought as the darkness rushed in was – at least he got to tell her that he loved her.


	13. M is for Mind

**MIND**

Manticore had him.

How ironic, that he was a prisoner of the very organisation he was supposed to be burying. He didn't even know that they were still operating – why would the Conclave tell him anything right now, when they were busy trying to decide what to do with him... But apparently, while they had abandoned Seattle, Manticore were still active in Arizona and when the NSA – no doubt instructed by their Cult puppet masters, he snarled silently – got a lead on Transgenics in that area, he drew the short straw for assignment, arriving late in the evening but deciding the quicker he wrapped up, the sooner he could be back home, brooding and plotting.

But he never for one second even remotely considered that it was all an elaborate set up to get him quietly out of the way with no accountability, and the Transgenic quarry that he quickly located and began hunting, turned on him and turned him in to their Superiors.

Which is why, three days later, he was still strapped down in a metal chair, with a laser trained in his eye, while some harmless looking kid stood in front of him, asking questions and probing his mind.

He could feel it, feel them - and there was more than one spook assigned to break him/ break in to him. And they were relentless; for hours at a time, constant, unending; but the onslaught was nothing compared to the Conclave conditioning of his early years – until they found that tiny stray thought about _her_, and then it was pure torture, all the way, until he was feeling more pain than he'd felt for twenty years.

And he was scared what they'd do next – to her...


	14. N is for Name

**NAME**

He sometimes wondered what he was doing, if he had head trauma or some unexpected psychological condition, that had led him to choose her over so many loyal and faithful years serving a cause he believed in, fulfilling the occasionally outrageous demands of those ranked above him in positions of Authority.

It had always worked out for him before – he did the crazy stuff he was asked, killed the people he was told to, and they smoothed things over if anyone ever noticed what he'd done.

Until her.

She was like nothing he'd ever encountered.

Her early training made her dangerous. Her rebellious nature made her unpredictable. Running from Manticore for so long had given her incredible ingenuity. Her compassion made her weak.

And yet she had proved to be more powerful than him. An insidious force that slowly overwhelmed him.

Time and again they had clashed. She had walked away - with the bruises he had given her, but she _had_ walked away.

Every time they clashed, he never managed to keep hold of her.

They only weapon that made her pause was his insistence on her designation.

But in the end he liked nothing better than screaming her name as he climaxed. And then he wondered why he'd denied that to her for so long...


	15. O is for Open

**OPEN**

She was glaring at paperwork when he walked through the open door.

She didn't look up – Max always knew when it was him, and the quicker she finished the report the sooner she could leave her office.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I want?"

She didn't rise to the bait, didn't even raise her head to answer.

"It's either what you always want," she grinned at a rather pleasant memory of him arriving in her doorway holding a bunch of flowers and wearing only a smile... "Or you'll explain it eventually..."

"Max..." there was a heat in his tone that intrigued her. She laid her pen down, lifted her head to meet his gaze.

He stood halfway between the door and her desk, which was strange – he normally came right up to her workspace or dropped into the battered couch Alec had insisted she needed for the comfort of visitors. Max had argued that if her visitors weren't comfortable, they would leave quicker and then she could get more work done.

She'd let him win, though; which is why she was now wondering why Ames was acting so odd – there was definitely a tension to him as he stood there.

He stepped a pace closer and pulled a small box from his pocket.

Her breath left her in a stunned gasp, that she quickly hoped he hadn't heard, hoped he had been too distracted by his rapidly unfolding plans to notice.

Ames lifted her hand and placed the box in her palm. When she continued to stare at it he prompted,

"Open it..."

She looked at him like he was a stranger but followed his request.

The dark fabric box, lined with a plush kind of fake velvet contained a key. She picked it up, holding it warily with finger and thumb away from her body – like a ranger would a snake.

"What's it for?"

"Our apartment."

Max frowned, puzzled.

"We don't have an apartment."

Ames favoured her with a 'no, duh...' look, and realisation blossomed across her face.

With a squeal, Max jumped over the desk and launched herself into his arms, grinning.

"Seriously?!"

Ames matched her grin.

"Yup. Your Command Heads finally decided that we weren't playing at being together so they found us a room."

Max stared at him, delight clear in her expression.

"I can't believe it..." she kept whispering, awed.

He held her tightly, squeezed her gently.

"So... You wanna come see it?"

She nodded, now speechless at the kind gesture from people she respected. As Ames led her through Terminal City, fingers entwined tightly with her own; she wondered if her friends realised what this meant to her – not only accepting her relationship but approving it in a wordless way, by letting him stay with her.

While there was a long way to go before her population would forgive him, a certain amount of trust was apparently being extended.

As she slid her key into the lock of their home, Max decided she wouldn't ever stop fighting for him to be here.


	16. P is for Promise

**PROMISE**

She bounced up to him.

That was always a bad sign – it normally led to talk of a puppy and its lack in her life. It always meant a request for something she shouldn't have; most of the time he could dissuade her.

"Can we see Mommy tomorrow?"

"No." he managed to sound firm - once he'd got enough breath back to speak. She certainly knew how to execute unexpected attacks – she'd be such an operative if they could control her independence.

Undeterred, she tried again, having learnt from countless examples, to start too high and then bargain for more achievable goals.

"Can we see Mommy next week?"

"No." A sadness was creeping over him. Other people's three year olds could be as precocious, as frustrating, as amazingly rewarding. Her origins were no secret to the community, and thanks to some unfortunate circumstances they were no longer unknown to her. But his Superiors had made no attempts to conceal their dislike of her mother, which had made her all the more curious about where she came from.

The past few months had been filled with sometimes subtle, sometimes blatant questions. And after each one he felt a little older, a little more tired – that he couldn't answer all her questions. Or, more truthfully, that he wouldn't.

She sucked in a breath, steeling herself for one final attempt before letting it go – until next time.

"Can I at least see her before my birthday?"

Ames sighed. Her voice had risen higher, tighter, as he kept denying her, as his own discomfort grew.

"I can't promise that, sweetie. And I won't lie to make you feel better..." he felt like the worst father in the world, a mean old man and a bad excuse for a human being.

But she didn't seem too upset – her head on a slight angle as she considered his position,

"Uncle Jonas lies..."

Ames fought a smile – she was never down for long. His little girl was a true fighter, bounced back large as life, ready for the next round.

"Yes." he agreed, "And that's why I don't like you spending so much time with him."

"Then you need to get me from school more often." she answered, cutting right to the point, tactless with youth.

"Sweetie, I have to work." he sighed; reduced to arguing with a three year old who was far too clever for her own good. She got the stubborn smart mouth from her mother, no doubt about that...

"You could take the day off," she began, hopeful, almost painfully so. "We could,"

"No." he cut her off. "You need to understand that she lives far away because it's better for us. For you and for her and for me." he took a deep breath. "It's safer for her..." he finished in a near whisper.

"I want to see her..." she choked, tears in her voice and her eyes.

"I can't promise that..." he pulled her close, tried to console her with touch where words couldn't, feeling powerless and strangely guilty...


	17. Q is for Quarantine

**QUARANTINE**

It had all gone horribly wrong...

His team had entered Terminal City as planned, created the distraction that had let him get close enough to execute the final stage and kill 452.

But then that sealed reservoir blew, releasing who knew how many gallons of potentially lethal sludge, right over her, running toward him, flushing him out of his hiding place.

The Transgenics had laughed as he dropped in to sight, damp with green goo that clung to his clothes.

The two of them – him and her – had been hustled off to an Infirmary, which must have been a lab before the Pulse made the sector toxic because hospitals didn't usually have Category 3 isolation rooms lying around, just in case.

No-one knew yet, what it was or what side effects it might cause. She was probably immune (freaking scientists...) and if not, her boosted immune systems would deal with any repercussions better than his might.

And that was the rub – for all his superior breeding, some unexpected possibly nuclear waste from Freak Central might take him out.

And he couldn't do a thing about it.

Some Freaks had run off with a sample of the stuff to get some answers, but that would take time.

So for the short term future he was stuck with _her_, for god knows how long.

In the middle of Freak Central.

With, oh god, shoot him now - 494 grinning on the other side of the glass...

At least she wasn't talking.

Yet...


	18. R is for Rune

**RUNE**

Max curled her fingers over her palm.

In the three and a half years since Terminal City was granted Independence, their academics had learnt to read the Conclave runes.

So she knew that the single black mark on her hand meant "child".

And she knew that she couldn't have any.

Even if she hadn't suffered internal damage during that clash with Ordinaries two years ago, Max didn't have any eggs – someone had taken them.

She blamed Manticore and Fetch agreed – some of the scarring was quite old. But the medic was sure that there had been several thefts over several occasions, although she couldn't tell Max who, when or why.

Max opened her closed fist, glaring at the dark stroke once again revealed.

If not _her_ child... then whose...?


	19. S is for Sunday

Author's note – I need to take some if not all, of this coming week off for Real Life reasons. So there may be no updates for several days. However, I will be posting the remaining alphabet before the end of September so you can wait for those chapters with baited breath!!

Hope you're all enjoying reading them as much as I'm enjoying writing them... :D

**SUNDAY**

He woke in a bed.

That was the first surprise, considering he had passed out with blood loss in Sector 9.

The second revelation was more of a shock – judging by the barcodes peeking out from underneath short haircuts, he was in some kind of Transgenic enclave. And when 494 walked up to his bed, his suspicions were confirmed – Ames White was in Terminal City.

"Am I a prisoner?" he demanded of the X5, dominance ruined by the raspy quality of his voice.

Alec cocked his head,

"Do you need to be?"

White considered this, and then the third shock made itself known -

"I can't feel my legs..." he admitted, tightly.

Alec frowned. "I thought that was kind of your thing?"

"Not the pain," White snarled, "I can't feel my _legs_!"

A grimace crossed Alec's face. "That's not good." the X5 glanced around, "I'm sure there's a medic somewhere..."

White's hand shot out and grabbed the Transgenic's arm. "That can wait... Tell me how I'm here?"

Alec's lip curled a little.

"Max sent us back for you."

White was amused - this Transgenic clearly didn't agree with her request but she was their boss and like good little soldiers, they had followed orders.

"Where is she?" White looked around, surprised she wasn't here too, snarking and pissing him off.

"In a coma." Alec answered blandly.

White's jaw dropped, he followed the X5's gaze across the Infirmary.

In a quiet corner, far from the bustle and visitors of other patients, she looked so small – surrounded by machines and covered in tubes.

He could only stare. What the hell had happened?

"Did you mean it?" Alec's tight voice cut through White's shock. He blinked.

"You heard that?"

"Yeah." Alec wasn't looking at the Familiar, eyes trained on the tiny woman across the room. After a pause he continued quietly, "So did she..."

White lay back with a sigh. A smile fought its way on to his face – tentative at first but slowly growing.

Seeing it, Alec sighed. "You got it bad?"

White's smile became a grin, his voice warm with amazement –

"I think so..."


	20. T is for Touch

forgot to write this author's note (slaps head) - this letter is seriously AU. Max stayed at Manticore in 2009 - choose your own why. The breeding cult work with Manticore but the transgenics are never told about the details, they pick those up along the way.

**TOUCH**

She was a soldier. She was made for war not love.

So why does she dream of his voice?

Burn under his gaze?

Yearn for his touch?

The casual contact as he corrects a pose during sparring.

A light caress as he adjusted a weapons strap before a drill.

He stopped her in the mess hall last week with a hand on her arm to talk about some new training session. She didn't really hear the details, she was worried she might melt, the heat of his fingers permanently marked in her memory.

Ames White. Civilian Specialist. Loaned to Manticore by some companion programme.

He was teaching them how to survive if alone and injured.

She was learning what it felt like to live.


	21. U is for Umbrella

**UMBRELLA**

Max scowled at the rain through the open doorway.

She didn't like getting wet at the best of times. Sure she'd do it for a mission or in a worst case scenario, but given the choice she would stay in the dry and wait for the weather to do its thang. Especially when she was done up to the nines and already in a bad mood because of it.

She'd spent three frustrating hours schmoozing at City Hall, dodging old men who wanted to grope her and bitter women who were jealous of her youth and looks, none of whom wanted to talk about Terminal City or its needs – the reasons why she was trussed up like a prize turkey attending some totally fake glamour event whose sole purpose was for people to be seen with the right People. And apparently, the Leader of Terminal City was a Person of the moment. Just great...

She'd escaped – good bless Manticore's earlier training; a sentiment she never thought she'd ever have – only to be thwarted by these heavy clouds, merrily lightening their load. Anyone would think she lived in Seattle...! Her car for the night was so close she could practically smell the driver's pungent cologne.

The sound of an umbrella going up behind her made Max turn, surprise made her jaw drop.

"Wouldn't want your pretty dress getting ruined..." Ames White said pleasantly.

Max continued to gape – she hadn't seen him since he fled Terminal City after intercepting a bullet that would have killed her. And suddenly here he was, nonchalant and relaxed; as though nothing remarkable had happened, as though they were just two people with no history.

"Where's your suit?" she managed to choke, desperately seizing the mundane subject of his casual attire, to give her time to regroup.

"I'm not a guest," he answered, with a maddeningly laid-back attitude.

"I figured," she snapped, "Or you would have been in there." she jerked her head toward the Council Room where the noise of a party still in full-swing floated up the hall toward them. "Thought you guys didn't go anywhere without NSA dress-code approved cheap suits..." she snarked, trying to get her tough-chick self-defence back online for protection.

"I'm not on the clock tonight."

He was being cagey, strangely she didn't want to pry. It was weird enough him being friendly after he'd avoided talking to her for so long in Terminal City – a feat that was quite impressive seeing as he'd been with them for several days while the Medics tried to keep his insides inside. If they spoke for much longer the conversation would have to go there and then he'd probably run off again without explaining himself.

Not that he _had_ to, being alive was a good enough reward, thank you – it would just be nice to know what had changed his mind so fundamentally.

She tore her gaze away from him, she didn't like how her thoughts were so often about him recently. She could try to kid herself that it was only because of him saving her life but Max knew she was lying – and doing a bad job of it too.

She sighed. The rain wasn't getting any better but if she wasn't going to raise the subject she had better get out of here before the silence turned to tension and things got nasty.

"You want me to walk you out?" he asked, startling her with the similarity to her private decision.

Not trusting her voice she cocked her head to gage his sincerity.

He smiled and she wondered why she couldn't breathe for a moment. Only a moment, but it was enough to give her plenty to keep her awake later tonight.

"My car is just outside," she manage a fairly stable tone but inside she was a roiling mass, like storm tossed waves.

He held out his arm. Silently she placed a hand above his wrist, trying not to feel the blood moving beneath his skin, trying not to count the beats of his pulse for some indication of what was going on behind those inscrutable dark eyes

They stepped out of the porch, Max shivered as the chill of the night cut through the light fabric of her dress. She felt him tense as though to speak but he said nothing, moved his arm out from under her hand to hold her against his side, secure as they went down the rain-slick steps.

She pointed their way across the parking lot and he opened the door for her when they reached her car, the driver snoozing, oblivious in the front.

White chuckled. "Some security he is," he jerked a thumb at the offending party. "Anyone could have come over here and planted something nasty."

About to enter the car, Max paused, suddenly hearing the truth in White's words.

She stepped back, bit her lip and found the courage to look at him when she admitted, "How am I going to get home?"

White inhaled, as he realised his chance comment was actually pertinent and he had effectively stranded her in the middle of town. He glanced her way; and in an impractical outfit too.

"I could drive you?" he offered.

Max nodded, and then thinking he might have missed her agreement, opened her mouth to confirm but he was already guiding her further from the building, with a hand in the small of her back. She tried to feel annoyed at his proprietary gesture but the warmth of his touch was comforting with the night growing steadily worse as an experience.

They didn't speak again as they reached his car, or during the drive, or when he had pulled to a stop in one of the concealed access points.

Max reached for the door handle and felt his hand on her arm. She sat back, turning to face him, held his troubled gaze as he searched for the words.

"I couldn't let you die," he announced. She wisely said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"You're going to be important. Not just because you can find my son. But apparently for humanity too. And I've decided they deserve to be saved.

"I bet your Conclave aren't very happy about that." she murmured.

He nodded, expression thoughtful and, was that regret she saw?

"I was at City Hall tonight, officially disowning my son, so that he could have a better life without me and the chaos I seem to inspire."

Max shivered at the dull tone of his revelation. This was a broken man before her, the only thing keeping him upright and breathing was either habit or the stubborn streak in his soul that prevented him showing any weakness to her.

"I'm sorry..." she breathed, meaning it with her whole heart. Despite it being Logan's idea in the first place, and White having set the circumstances for them, Max felt responsible for it all. And consequently, for the state of the man in the car with her.

Although, she scolded) herself, it wasn't like she asked him to jump that day. She was truly grateful for his action, but she hadn't requested it. So why did she feel like she should try to fix it? Fix him...?

Max sighed. It was turning into one hell of a night. Why not make sure it went down in history...

"Do you want to come in?" she asked. "We could talk," she frowned, that was so lame! "We... I..."

"I'd like that." he interrupted quietly, saving her from further embarrassing rambling.

"Okay..." she nodded, and reached for the door again.

"Will they mind?"

Max shrugged. "You saved my life. I think they can cut you a break at least once."

He grinned. "Just once?"


	22. V is for Vacation

Author's note – this is set in (a mildly AU) season two, before Love Among the Runes but after the events in She Ain't Heavy. For Shay. She knows why...

**VACATION**

"Quick, in here..." Max dragged him into a supply closet and they tore at each others clothes. "You're taking a big risk, doing this at work."

He grinned, "When have I ever done things the easy way, Maxie..."

"Don't call me _Maxie_..." she growled.

He silenced her with a searing kiss, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he lifted her against the wall, she was oblivious to the rough stone as he filled her senses and her mind.

--

"Where the firetruck is Max?" Normal demanded, walking over to her friends as they lunched among the lockers.

"She's on break..." Cindy defended.

Normal looked suspicious. "Then why isn't she here, damaging my staff or the property."

Sketchy shrugged. "Why do you care?"

Normal's face lit up and Cindy smacked the naive messenger in the shoulder for giving their boss an opportunity to vocalise his displeasure.

"As a member of the Jam Pony team you are responsible for maintaining the fine reputation I have painstakingly built with hard work and dedication – something you bums wouldn't recognise if it walked up to you offering cake,"

"Ooh, there's cake?"

The glare Normal directed to that remark could have killed. It could have cut through 3 inch steel with ease. He continued, with the tone of a lecturing professor.

"_Max_," he stressed her name, "Is well known for being involved in unorthodox situations and I like to know if that's in company time so I can consider damage control ahead of the catastrophe."

OC rolled her eyes, Sketchy laughed.

There was a thump and the high-pitched squeal of a woman. Four heads turned toward the sound.

"If you reprobates are messing around in that closet again..." Normal threatened, taking a step toward the area in question.

"Normal, Normal," OC laid a hand in his arm, which he stared at as though it was contaminating his clothes. "You don't wanna go busting in there right away. You wanna see one of us naked by mistake?"

Sketchy grinned. "Or _two_ of us," he remarked thoughtfully.

Normal shook his head, horrified at _that_ image. "I swear I put a lock on that door..."

Chuckles drifted from the group as Normal sent a considering look toward the closet.

More sounds of bodies hitting things – hitting walls and the meagre furniture stored inside.

"That does it!" Normal snapped. "I don't care if I see your wrinkly bits," he hollered slowly approaching the closet, "I'm going to fire you right now if you don't open this door!"

Normal paused, giving the miscreant a final chance to lessen the consequences of his anger by coming out.

The door remained closed.

Normal drew closer, hearing a soft rattle as someone on the other side fumbled for the handle.

He flung the door open, crowing with delight.

Ames White blinked in the sudden light.

He straightened his tie, and then calmly, given that four people were staring at him, explained, "I was interviewing a suspect."

"Oh my god... Max!" Alec abandoned his lunch and pushed past the Agent. He came to an abrupt stop in the doorway with a gasp.

Max looked up at Alec's arrival, blushed a little as she pulled her shirt straight.

She knew that he knew what had happened in there. Max decided that she didn't care. "It's better than a holiday," she said with a shrug.

"Cheaper too," Alec remarked, leaning on the frame with a barely repressed smirk.

"And none of those Sector points to worry about."

"Don't push it..." Alec warned, joke wearing thin as he wondered if it was their first time.

He stood up as she reached the threshold. Max caught his eye, guilt swimming in hers.

"Will you say anything?" she nervously asked, imagining the story he could tell from the scents in the room.

Alec shook his head. "Who needs to know how you enjoy yourself." Then he grinned, "At least I know why you've been less of a bitch recently. Frustrated were we?!"

Max smacked him in the head, but she was smiling - until they walked into brewing chaos; Cindy sizing White up for a fight, his hand toward her in protest, while Normal declared her criminal tendencies.

White saw Max emerge and grinned her way before laying a hand on Normal's arm, interrupting a highly embellished account of one unfortunate incident.

"Sounds like I'd better take her in for further questioning..." he said.

The group fell silent. Alec shuddered at the barely hidden purr under the words, and the way Max closed her eyes briefly, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Sketchy was still reeling from the proof that Max was a bad girl, while Cindy was ready to defend her homegirl's freedom – with dramatic and possibly fatal results, if that's what it took.

"It's okay," Max said, laying a hand on her best friend's arm. "He won't hurt me," she shot him a quick glance, loaded with private meanings. "He's a _professional_..."

Alec struggled not to chuckle as Max mocked the deadly Agent in front of an oblivious Normal.

Looking uncharacteristically meek, she followed the Familiar across the room to the door, body tense with suppressed laughter as Normal resumed his defamation of her reputation.

Alec was the only one who heard their exchange, metres outside the building –

"So, any illegal activities you want to confess to?"

Max laughed. "I can think of a few I'd like to try..."


	23. W is for Wager

**WAGER**

"I bet Ray's happier without you..." Max slurred, trying to focus on the Agent in front of her.

"Really...?" White replied, fastening the cuffs on her wrists around the arms of a chair.

"Yeah..." she continued, voice fading as the tranquilizer's grip tightened.

White stepped back, taking a look at the nearly unconscious bane of his existence.

And decided to have some fun.

-------------------

She woke in a vehicle.

Recognised the pervading scent.

What was she doing in White's car?

What was she doing – alive and unrestrained – in White's car?!

He was driving, focused on the road in the same intense way she was used to seeing him stare at her. Maybe the guy was just highly strung, and the vendetta against Transgenics was some overblown misunderstanding. She almost sniggered at that thought – she must have hit her head or something, to joke even to herself that the murdering psycho next to her was anything other than the most dangerous thing any Manticore alum had ever come up against.

He glanced her way, alerted by the minute body shift as she assessed her situation, or just keeping an eye on his captive.

"Hey, you're awake!"

She growled something rude.

"Never could have explained my way past check points with you in cuffs, despite the magic badge, so it seemed easier to pretend you were sleeping." he glanced her way again. "Apparently we make a cute couple..."

His lip, so perpetually in a sneer, was twisted with mild disgust. Max briefly wondered when it had lessened to only 'mild' but made a second rude noise in reply to his dig - although this one seemed to come with physical special effects, and she lunged for the window controls, barely getting her head outside before she spit up whatever had been in her stomach before the 'fun with drugs' that White had shared with her.

"It's not supposed to make you sick," he accused, vaguely confused with her reaction.

She glared at him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, leaning her head against the seat, closing her eyes with sigh. "Maybe I'm allergic," she managed to quip. "Better remember that next time you want to shoot me full of something nasty."

"Does lead count?" he asked, voice light enough to be called teasing; but she had apparently exhausted her repartee and didn't reply – not that he deserved one.

After several miles she broke the silence, glancing at the terrain rolling past the window.

"Where are we?" she demanded.

"Rural America. Isn't it pretty..."

She didn't smile at his answer; there was a thoughtful look on her face that briefly could be described as panic.

"Funny thing about small towns," White began conversationally, "After a while, people get to know each other. 'Course, there's always at least one gossip who just has to pry; but stay somewhere long enough and people learn things. And remember things.

And if you pay enough, there are _other_ people who find out what the first people know."

Max closed her eyes with a groan.

"_I_ learnt where my son is." he continued, "And I figure, even if I don't need you to physically secure his release at least I have you as leverage or even revenge." White sounded smug as he went on, "Although, the way I hear it, Cale's not that interested any more, so maybe I'll get to kill you after all."

Max winced. The crack about Asha hurt. While she had pushed Logan away _(to protect him)_ with a fabricated relationship, she hadn't considered that he would find solace with someone else – so quickly.

She growled. No-one else was surprised that Logan had turned to Asha for comfort. They were only surprised that she didn't seem more upset. But then they didn't mention if they heard her crying at night when she couldn't sleep and had no-one to hold her and keep her warm inside Terminal City's secure but amenity-lacking walls.

With a start she remembered the circumstances that had led to this road trip, knowledge that was swiftly followed the realisation that she had been effectively missing, for several hours.

"Can I make a call?" she asked timidly, and hated that she appeared to be cowed by him. "Or does that contravene my human rights?" acid laced her voice, as the indignation inspired the return of her attitude.

"No call."

"Oh come on," Max implored. "Or they'll mount up and come looking for me. Flashing your badge has left a trail a blind man could follow, so unless you want the cavalry steaming after us let me tell them to stand down."

"And why trust me not to do anything?" he questioned.

Max sighed. "The way I see it, you could have taken me out at the warehouse; so as long as I don't piss you off,"

"Long shot..." White muttered.

"You're going to keep me around until you're sure you don't need me."

White rolled his shoulders, before shooting her a positively wolfish look.

"Never said I wouldn't knock you around a bit..." he smiled, showing all his teeth in a most unfriendly way.

Max shook her head. "You don't hit unprovoked." she pointed out smugly.

"There's plenty to provoke me, right here..." he growled.

Max stayed silent but privately, was sure she had made the right call about him – he may be a Freak-hating killer but he didn't hit women in cold blood. And when his phone dropped into her lap, she turned to the window to hide her smile.

Dialling a long and complicated number, Max put the phone to her ear and waited for the cheery greeting –

"Terminal City, how may I direct your call?"

"It's Max."

Dix gasped. "Where are you?" he demanded voice tight with obvious tension, calling an aside "Get Alec. Now!"

"On a road trip with our favourite snake-loving bad guy." she said wryly.

"I don't love snakes..." White muttered.

"Are you okay?" Dix asked.

"I'm fine." Max reassured airily. "He's not exactly being friendly but I'm not in cuffs so I'll take the win."

"Where the hell are you!" Alec demanded, coming on the line.

Max glanced out of the window. "Somewhere pretty."

"Max!" Alec's reprimand was sharp. It didn't seem fair for Alec to be playing her role – with her – but she had to admit it was justified, given the circumstances – and she _was_ being flippant.

"On the road to find Ray." she confessed with a sigh.

"Oh."

"Yeah... Oh."

Max shifted the phone to her other ear so she could lean against the window. At the other end of the phone line, miles away in the safety of Terminal City Alec heaved a sigh.

"So... road trip, huh. You crazy kids play nice and don't do anything stupid."

"That's your MO..." Max quipped, glad to be back on familiar ground.

There was a long pause as Alec debated what to say.

"You call if he tries anything." Alec commanded, settling for friendly advice rather than a dressing down.

"Ah..." Max paused – she wasn't looking forward to her next words. "This is his phone."

Silence reigned – on the line, throughout Command, and in the car.

"You'll be fine," Alec pronounced eventually. "Manticore didn't design us to be easy victims. How long will you be gone?"

She wanted to sigh again but took a deep breath instead before replying, "That depends entirely on the whim and intentions of my driver." She glanced across at White, who refused to respond.

"Let us know, okay. I don't want to keep your chair warm for too long..."

Max managed a chuckle. "Sure you do. I'll bet you're loving being in charge – giving orders, making Mole's life hell,"

"Cos that's what you do all day..." Alec interrupted with a tart line.

White gave a warning rumble.

"I've got to go," she told Alec. "Apparently my credit is up."

Alec laughed. "Take care of yourself, Maxie." he sounded sincere. She felt weird; like he already thought it was going to end in tears, and was being nice to her – to make up for it. "Try not to annoy him too much!"

The dial tone sounded, as Alec hung up.

Max closed the phone but held it a moment; wondering if the team back in Seattle would tell Logan, if Logan even needed to know she had been snatched by her nemesis and forced on a road trip against her convictions.

The answer, she was surprised to realise, was that she didn't care. Logan was a persistent annoyance that she was continually trying to bat away. He wouldn't accept the fact that TC and herself no longer needed him. Terminal City in particular didn't even like him around. Alec smoothed the feathers that were always ruffled in a variety of small and larger ways by Logan's visits. And he shouldn't have to do that, she mused.

Max passed White's phone back to him, distracted by her thoughts. If he wondered what she was thinking about, he didn't care enough to ask, so she passed a few almost comfortable hours, quietly in a car with Ames White.

TO BE CONTINUED... as a complete piece all of it's own

(but don't hold your breath for it being any time soon - sorry!)


	24. X is for Xerox

**XEROX**

Max had been awake on and off for about a day when Trish from Communications showed her the Wanted poster.

"It doesn't look anything like him," Max mumbled, voice husky with sleep.

"It's good enough for the NSA and Sector Cops to have a field day." the short-haired operative remarked.

"Where is he?" Max rasped, glancing around the currently empty ward. She didn't have the energy for long sentences but the great thing about Transgenics was their ability to process and fill in the gaps.

"Doing Physical Therapy with Gem."

"With Gem? Doesn't she run the crèche?"

"Yeah, but she's the only one who'll spend any time with him." Trish said gently.

Max frowned. "Not even Alec?"

"Alec's busy running the city while you're on Medical leave." Max made a face. "He's doing a really good job!" Trish defended.

Max rolled her eyes, smothering a yawn behind a hand that shook with tiny tremors. Trish pretended not to notice that her CO was still a long way from recovered. Transgenics didn't like to comment on weakness – it usually ended with a unit member taking a one-way trip to the Infirmary.

"What's he doing about that?" she tilted her head at the obviously Xeroxed page, trying to resist her recurring fatigue.

"At the moment, Alec's given White temporary asylum but I think he's waiting for you..."

Max arched a questioning eyebrow.

"Everyone knows what happened."

"How?" Max demanded, but her authority was undermined by the giant yawn that followed.

"Some of the X kids were pretty shook up by the attack. And when Alec's team came back with your boy the rumours started flying,"

"He's not my boy..." Max muttered.

"He could be," Trish said brightly, fighting a smile at the perfect example of stubbornness that Max currently presented. "So Alec made a full assembly announcement to clear things up and keep the Agent from an early and unauthorized death."

"Good..." Max agreed, blinking slowly as the firm grip of sleep tightened. She was drifting off before she could ask why Ames needed Physical Therapy anyway...

"Sweet dreams," Trish said gently, standing to go back to work, nodding politely at the new visitor who took the chair she had vacated and laced his fingers with those of the Transgenic in the bed.


	25. Y is for Yawn

**YAWN**

They were sat in comfortable silence, him on the couch, her sprawled across the floor. A clock ticked, the only sound apart from quiet and steady breathing.

He was pretending to read, but really he'd been watching her – and for some time; almost mesmerised by the light catching her hair, the way it gilded the brown into so many richly glowing shades.

She was reading, utterly engrossed in the pages before her. But often she'd look up and smile at him – and he couldn't help smiling back, his heart warming while his face lit up at her affection.

He loved her so much. She was his whole world. He'd do anything for her. Well, almost anything...

Then it happened.

Such a tiny, common-place thing. No momentous event, no rising concerto or illuminating shaft of pure light.

She yawned.

He thought she was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.

And he realised that he couldn't do this anymore.

With a sigh, he reached for his phone and dialled a number that no-one else knew he knew.

"Terminal City; how may I direct your call?" a voice chirped.

Ames looked at his daughter.

"I need to speak to Max..."


	26. Z is for Zipper

Author's Note – I know that her name does not mean 'hope' but I needed the dialogue exchange that goes with it, and the options for that meaning are few and far between. Please don't drown me with meanings and options – I used a WIP name for too long and got fond of it... :P You'll have to forgive me. Or not :D

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**ZIPPER**

The hallway of their apartment held the usual chaos of shoes and coats and "going outside" accessories. He'd found his boots – each one at opposite ends of the narrow stretch of non-living space – and now that they were firmly laced onto his feet, he was gamely trying to get her ready to leave.

But she was understandably excited, and kept twisting away to run around their tiny apartment. Despite the fact that he had a schedule, Ames couldn't get mad at his little girl – right now she was the only thing that made getting out of bed worth it. Except for Sundays, when she'd crawl into his bed and they'd both snooze until he went to the kitchen and brought pancakes in and they'd see who could get more syrup on their face. She always won...

"Daddy, dance with me!" she begged.

He wasn't averse to underhanded tactics so he stood with a tiny sigh and found her in the lounge, took her hands, moved where she said to go.

And then scooped her up, a wriggling giggling bundle, and carried her back to the hall, sat her on the little chair that was hers, and brought a shoe toward her left foot.

She obliged. Which surprised him and put him on guard for a sneaky attack. But she calmly accepted her shoes, swinging her now booted feet as he sat back on his heels.

A figure loomed in the doorway. Ames glanced up.

"What do you want, Riley?" he growled.

"Gatehouse has you and the whelp listed for today."

Ames glared at the security officer. "So?" he shrugged, "It's her birthday; we're going somewhere nice." he scowled, "I _got_ permission."

Riley pulled a face as though he'd smelled something nasty.

"Better not go to the zoo; you might take the wrong animal home..."

"Do you mind!" Ames made quite the picture of outrage, even though he was on his knees zipping up her jacket with a squeal of plastic teeth. The little red parka was a birthday present and a couple of sizes too big for her, but Ames knew she'd grow in to it fast enough – if recent evidence was anything to go by.

"How old is she?" Riley asked.

She opened her mouth to tell him and force her way into the conversation about her, that was being conducted over her head; but Ames squeezed her arm, a silent warning not to get involved, and she trusted her daddy so she obeyed.

"Four." Ames said tightly.

"My youngest is four," Riley sounded almost friendly. _And your oldest is in _her_ class_. Ames thought savagely, warm with paternal pride that his little girl was so advanced, so unique. "'Course they'll never let you breed again, so you won't get the pleasure of watching several grow up and play each other."

_Ray..._ Ames' heart tightened before he mastered the reaction. He didn't let himself think about his first child; had convinced himself to consider his son as dead, so that the urge to throw away years of boot-licking and a safe future for his daughter to go bang on the Transgenics' walls and demand Ray's location wouldn't cripple him, wouldn't keep him awake at night, wouldn't make every day hurt.

"I manage..." he growled in reply. Riley's mouth opened for another taunt but he found himself stepping backwards as Ames rose to his feet, barely contained anger obvious in his tense movements as he urged the other man toward the door.

Relief began to slid through Ames as his unwelcome visitor opened the door, and stepped out. But the man paused on the threshold,

"Behave yourself, sweetheart," Riley called, turning to leave. "Maybe you can show your Dad how it's done..."

After the door had closed, she shuddered. "I don't like him." she muttered with feeling.

Ames narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Has he ever hurt you?" he demanded, worried.

She shook her head firmly enough to set her curly brown hair bouncing. "But he's not a nice man..." she declared.

"No sweetheart, he isn't." Ames agreed sadly, remembering past and painful encounters with the man; he pulled her in for a hug. She threw her arms around him – tightly, as if she could squeeze all her love for him into him.

Standing, Ames lifted his jacket from the peg in the wall.

Shrugging in to it, he took her hand, leading her out of their apartment. He locked the door and they walked down the hall, ignoring the elevator that almost never seemed to work, Ames swinging the fire door open so that she could pound down the stairs like always.

It was so hard to smile at her command of "Chase me, daddy!" but he managed it; managed to conceal the anger still simmering from Riley's visit.

She burst into the weak Fall sunlight, fire door slamming against the wall. Reflexes saved Ames from catching its rebound with his face. Watching her scamper across the parking lot to the car, he felt content for the first time all morning; a feeling he struggled to hold on to as they pulled up at the Gatehouse, were made to wait, despite Ames' advance preparations.

And then they were rolling through the gates, the compound's perimeter dwindling in the rear view mirror as Ames guided their car toward the City.

She was silent next to him; ever aware of his mood, she didn't want to ask when he clearly didn't want to talk.

Until he pulled in to an empty parking lot, weeds pushing through cracked asphalt.

When he pushed open his door and climbed out, she did the same, could no longer withhold a question.

"Are we there, Daddy?"

"No, sweetheart," he answered, hating the need for the unfolding subterfuge. "There's a device in the car that tells people where we are and I don't want them to know."

She tilted her head.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see. It's a surprise..." he found a smile from somewhere that didn't look too bad on his face. She didn't notice, excited by this new game, distracted by imagining what she would find.

Twenty minutes later he knocked on a wall that looked like a solid sheet of corrugated metal.

She was surprised when part of it swung open into the street.

An armed squad of teens and a half-man creature were revealed on the other side.

Ames suddenly felt nervous.

"We have an appointment." he said, relieved that his voice held steady.

The creature nodded, once, and gestured the visitors to come inside. The teens gripped their weapons tighter, forming a cordon around Ames and his girl. For whose protection, he didn't have the capacity to think about right now, sidetracked by the forthcoming events.

The escort stopped in front of a building. A teen peeled off and pushed the large double doors open.

Ames swallowed, a fortifying moment, before tightening his grip on her hand and walking inside.

All activity and noise stopped at his entrance. Unnerved by the scrutiny she hid behind his legs, hand tight on his, little body trembling.

Someone stepped forward.

"Max," Ames acknowledged, swallowing as the Transgenic drew closer, suddenly wondering if walking into Transgenic Central wasn't the worst idea he'd had all year.

The X5 stopped a pace away, head tilted as she stared at him, her expression considering.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

He cleared his throat, hating rush of conflicting emotions that assaulted him – guilt, anticipation; brave spark of hope...

"I said on the phone,"

"You said nothing!" she spat. "A bunch of probably meaningless fabrications to con your way in here to sow chaos."

He stiffened at the untrue – although a little justified – accusation. All too familiar irritation rising in his blood as she hijacked this encounter. Anger that just as quickly faded at the tug on his hand. He tried to regain control – of himself and the conversation.

"I said you needed to see something."

He held her gaze even as her eyebrows drew together, as her mouth pursed to spit some new complaint.

"Well?" she snapped.

He stepped aside, animal instincts snarling not to leave his kitt unprotected and vulnerable in the enemy's den. A thought quickly followed – were they _really_ the enemy, when he was so disillusioned with his own? Were they not perhaps today, on the same side, as he purposefully disobeyed his Elders and their plans by bringing his child to this place?

452 was gaping at the girl. He didn't blame her – his little sweetheart was beautiful, even by "cute kid" standards. As though aware of the impact she could have, she tilted her head, brown curls bouncing gently, the red of her jacket making her skin glow, his eyes in her face shining with intelligence – and curiousity.

"Daddy?" she whispered, never looking away from the Transgenic.

"Shh..." he soothed, comforting hand rubbing her back.

Alec appeared at the side of the tableau.

"Who's the clone?" he teased.

Max started as though shot, her stunned expression morphing to one of horror as she began to consider what her sub-conscious had been suggesting.

Alec, seeing the look on her face, backed away a step, mouth opening on an apology.

But White beat him to it, moving forward to put a hand on his daughter's shoulder, drawing her close as he sought and held the Transgenic's wild gaze, so that she would see and maybe accept the emotions tumbling in his eyes as he breathed,

"I'm sorry, Max. I am _so_ sorry..."

Her jaw shut with a click as Max got herself under control. She knelt in front of the girl.

"What's your name?"

"Sophie," her daughter replied. "It means 'hope'." she beamed at her father. "Daddy chose it."

Max looked at White, curious, a little anxious.

"Hope of what?" she asked.

"Change..." Ames replied, voice shaking.


	27. reading guide

**READING GUIDE**

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Hero and Umbrella

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the Sophie series ::

Daughter

Frosting

Kiss

Promise

Rune

Yawn

Zipper

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Girl

Imposter

Jealous

Name

Open

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Last

Sunday

Xerox

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Cold and Enough can be read together but are part of a larger story – which isn't told here.

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Anything and Mind can be read together – they may be part of a larger story...

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true stand-alones :

Brick

Quarantine

Touch

Vacation

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and my mammoth, Work in Progress

Wager – to be completed as a piece of its own, at a later date. Think of this chapter as a sample, a teaser if you will. But it works here on its own.

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